


Where Did You Go?

by LiamLogan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Autistic Logic | Logan Sanders, Hallucinations, Homophobia, Logince - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 21:03:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19876057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiamLogan/pseuds/LiamLogan
Summary: Logan knows he's smart, among other things, but he also struggles to connect with other people. His roommates, however, are keen to get to know him. In attempts to get him to be their friend, they take him on some outings, but one of them does not go as planned.





	Where Did You Go?

**Author's Note:**

> It's never explicitly mentioned, but this is autistic Logan HC mixed with social anxiety because apparently, I need to project onto him more. Also, this work has hallucinations in the story, alcohol, and violence. Proceed with care, I hope you enjoy.

Logan was smart, he knew that. He also knew that he was quiet, awkward, not very social, and he wished that his new room-mates just understood that, rather than despising him for never talking to them, for barely leaving his room, for preferring work over such eccentricities as partying. Spinning on his chair, he heard a knock on the door. Surprised, He went to answer it (simply saying ‘come in’ was out of the question: he had to answer the door personally) and was even more surprised to see Roman, usually such a frivolous, gregarious, and joyous man, stood at his door with a face of worry splashed onto him. Logan said nothing, but awaited an explanation.

“Okay, you’re name’s Logan, right?” He asked, stuttering and shivering. Already, Logan regret opening the door – how dare someone disturb him without even knowing his name?

“It is. What do you need?” Logan’s voice was blunt and dry. He reminded himself to get some water, when this current affair subsided.

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but Virgil just burned himself really badly. Can you help?” He requested, stepping back and looking down timidly so his eyes were facing the floor. Logan sighed, but resigned himself to the responsibility of tending to Virgil’s needs. Only one question went through his mind as Roman lead him to wherever he needed to go: which one’s Virgil?

Of course: the one who wears eyeshadow all over his face. Logan, calmly and silently, walked to Virgil and took his hand and observed the palm, where the burn was, while the other man – Patton, presumably – gawked at him. Even upon close inspection, the burn didn’t appear to be particularly grotesque nor extreme enough to warrant a hospital visit. He sighed.

“Have you run your hand under cold water?” He asked, releasing his hand and stepping away.

“Well… No.” He replied, ashamed.

“It’s blistering. You should do that for twenty minutes and then cover it in cling film. Take some painkillers and you’ll be fine. How did you do it?”

“I spilled water on my hand making a coffee.” Virgil admitted. Visibly even through his layers of makeup, Logan could tell he was blushing, but didn’t know what it meant. Was he warm? Angry? Embarrassed? Hopefully the lattermost; Logan despised being taken away from his room. In any case, he jumped at the opportunity to correct them all.

“In that case, it isn’t a _burn_ , it’s a _scald_ ; a burn comes from dry heat. Now, the water.” He commanded. Virgil obeyed hastily, jogging over to the kitchen sink and grabbing a stool to sit on for the next twenty minutes.

“Don’t you feel like you’re being a bit… Aggressive?” Suggested Patton, his voice trembling. Logan couldn’t help but wonder why everyone seemed to be nervous around him – not that he actually cared.

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t _feel_ anything.” He retorted in defence, taking Roman and Patton (what with Virgil now being out of earshot) by surprise. They tried to say something, but they were both choked up, giving Logan the few seconds he needed to return to his room. Once there, he slammed the door shut and faced what he knew would be waiting for him in the chair.

“So, you don’t feel _anything_?” Mocked Deceit. Logan tried to keep calm; he knew it was all in his head, none of it _was_ real, but he _looked_ so real. The scar on half his face making his lips look stretched into a smile, the slit through one of his eyes, the scales. Everything about him was unnerving.

“I _don’t_. You know I don’t, you shouldn’t be here.” He whispered quietly so as not to grab the attention of anyone out the room – he wouldn’t put it past any of them to listen through his door, and he’d have a lot of explaining to do if one of them overheard.

“Is it natural for you to be this way? Or do you make yourself this way as a means for some darker, more insidious agenda?” He taunted. Logan, still, felt nothing.

“So what if I do make myself this way? What harm is it doing? Is it not benefiting me, being able to push emotions to the side to obtain optimal objectivity?”

“You’re not pushing them to the side, though, are you? You’re casting them away, never to return again, aren’t you? Do you really think that’s healthy?” Deceit smiled. A wide, menacing, grin that made his scar all the more grotesque and freakish, and his eyes come alive.

“I’m not dead yet.” Logan retorted.

“Not that people can see. You continue like this, see how ‘alive’ you feel, see how real you are. See how much people actually care!” He snarled through gritted teeth. Before Logan could protest, he disappeared – and probably for the best; there’s no such thing as the last word with someone who isn’t real.

Days passed and sleepless nights without speaking. Logan could hear the laughter from downstairs, he could tell how connected and engaged the three friends were, how much they cared about each other. Upstairs, alone, he couldn’t help but feel like – no, not feel – he couldn’t help but _think_ he was more of an overseer than a housemate, more of some mysterious entity who simply existed to watch what other people do. To learn what they do, and why, because he just never learned before. He never meant to be so alien in the world, so far removed from humanity, but there he was, in his room alone, watching conspiracy theory videos and on the verge of collapse from exhaustion. Again, he heard a knock at the door. Answering, he was greeted by Patton, a juvenile ray of sunshine that even allowed Logan to break into a small smile.

“Hey Logan!” He exclaimed loudly, making Logan flinch; isolation had made him forget how loud people could actually be. Apologetic, Patton continued. “I was wondering if you wanted to join us on a trip to the book store, you seem like someone who’d enjoy it, and I get it if you don’t want to, but I thought to offer just in case-”

“Patton.” Logan interrupted, internally cringing at the hypocrisy (he hated being interrupted, himself).

“Yes?”

“You had me at ‘book’. When are we going?” He smiled. Patton smiled, too.

“Whenever you’re ready!”

Logan offered to drive, knowing that the closest book store was over a mile away and probably too far for them to walk without someone complaining, but Roman refused and laughed heartily, talking about how ‘with the climate in the shape it is, we should do anything we can to avoid worsening it’.

“I agree with what you’re saying, and I’m not arguing with you,” Logan argued, “but with just a few corporations being responsible for over seventy percent of global carbon emissions, whatever we do as individuals is practically inconsequential.” He fell silent. Virgil laughed.

“Wow, if I knew it was _that_ easy to make you shut up, I’d have started trying to be smart earlier!” He chuckled. Logan felt the blood rise to his cheeks and, for a reason unbeknown to him, he smiled.

“You think I’m smart?” He asked, his hands suddenly shaking. Clenching his fists, and digging his nails so far into his skin he could almost feel himself bleeding, he noticed his knuckles turning white. He remembered what this was: anxiety.

“Yeah, you certainly seem to know your stuff.” Virgil replied. While this came as no surprise to Logan – as established, he _knew_ he was smart – something terrible rushed inside him, and he could feel prickles of sweat accumulating on his wrists.

_Deceit?_ He called in his mind, hoping that simply thinking hard enough would be enough to summon him. Sure enough, after focussed blinking, Deceit was walking amongst them, striding along as if he fit there.

“What do you need from me now, Logan?” He heard him hiss.

_Get rid of this feeling, please, I don’t like it._

“Oh, this _feeling_?” He taunted, smiling yet again. Logan tried his hardest not to visibly squirm.

_No, anxiety isn’t a feeling in an emotional sense, but it’s just a reflex, a defence mechanism, I suppose. You know what I mean! Just get rid of it, at least for now!_

“For now? You mean to imply that I can make it resurface later?”

_Whatever you want! Please, I need you right now, Deceit. Let me pretend I’m okay, just for now._

“Whatever you say, sweetie.” He conceded, with a flirtatious tone. The tone Logan hated most.

“LOGAN!” Roman shouted, startling Logan enough to make him fall to the ground. To conceal himself, he laughed, but it still hurt. “Where did you go?” Roman joked.

“Oh, sorry,” Logan started, his minds scrambling to find the right words to lessen the severity of the situation, “I was just in my own world there!” He exclaimed, having come to the decision that playing along with the joke would be the best option, rather than the dreaded ‘opening up’. Virgil raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Patton cocked his head and fiddled with the hem of his shirt, but also didn’t say anything. For that, at least, Logan was grateful. Roman, however, laughed surreptitiously and offered Logan a hand to get up. Not wanting to be rude, he took it but flinched and squirmed away in discomfort.

“Oh, sorry Logan, are you not a touchy person either?” He asked, pulling himself away to give Logan space.

“I wouldn’t say that, it’s just… Wait, either?”

“Virgil hates being touched, too.” He explained. Logan glanced over at him curiously, and Virgil responded by flashing up a peace sign. The four continued walking to the book store as normal, each taking turns talking to Logan and getting to know him, and him trying to get to know them. It took a while, but he eventually returned to his usual comfortably numb state.

“Wait, Logan, what are you studying?” Patton asked. It had been so long, he’d forgotten that he’d actually moved in with them in the first place so as to be closer to college. Being the youngest of them all, they had already graduated and Logan had only just started.

“Oh, I’m majoring in law at the moment but I’m doing a minor course in philosophy and taking online classes for social psychology that’ll be worth a degree once I actually graduate.” He replied. There’s a fine line between answering a question and bragging, and Logan could never tell where it was; less of a ‘line’ and more of a haze, for him. “What did you guys do?” He asked in return so as to seem more nonchalant.

“Performing arts!” Exclaimed Roman with pride. Logan sighed with relief; if Roman could be so enthusiastic about his studies, he probably didn’t seem to be actually bragging.

“History and literature.” Replied Virgil, with much more a calm tone than Roman.

“I did veterinary science.” Answered Patton in an unusually blunt manner. The three seemed to be waiting for something, so Logan smiled. He had no idea if that was a good idea, but he wasn’t about to call for _him_ to ask. “I passed it, too!” He added after a few moments. Panicking, Logan searched his mind for what could be considered an appropriate response.

“That’s great!” He was able to muster. That seemed about right.

“Really? Most people don’t believe me when I say I actually passed.” Patton said, sadly.

“Why not?”

“They think I’m dumb, not smart enough to even study the subject, let alone pass it.” Again, Logan had to stumble in his mind for a response.

“In which case,” he started, for a few more seconds of time, “I think they’d be the dumb ones. You seem perfectly capable to me.” He concealed a smile of pride. One could almost think he was normal, saying something with that wit.

“Wait, you think so?” Patton asked, his eyes filling up with tears and his face turning red. Suddenly, Logan shivered, noticing that he may have said the wrong thing.

“Sure.” He said. Patton choked out a sob, and a few tears fell from his eyes. He couldn’t help it: Logan stared curiously, wondering what it was like to cry from emotion.

“Sorry Patton, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just-”

“No, it’s okay, Logan. It just means a lot.” He said. When it came to his attention what was happening, Roman swarmed all over Patton, engulfing him in a hug, whispering in his ear. Logan and Virgil kept walking. They were only a few minutes from the book store now.

“Hey.” Virgil called to get his attention. He looked over and smiled (smiling usually elicited a positive reaction). “Don’t worry about making Patton cry, it’s easy enough. Roman once made him cereal and he was so happy he cried for an hour.” Logan fiddled with the end of his tie awkwardly. “You just seem like the type of person who would accidentally make someone cry and never forgive yourself for it.” Logan, still unsure of what to do, thanked him, kindly. As the book store came in sight, he sped up eagerly, racing ahead of the others with ease.

Time had passed, that’s all Logan knew. One hour, two, maybe even three. He found it easy to spend time in any book store, but this particular one being four stories high and stacked floor to ceiling with book after book, not only did he spend time, each minute melted into another as he scoured each shelf thoroughly, overwhelmed by all the colourful spines and large letters engraved on them. Classics, young adult, mystery, and horror – all these genres, but only two seemed to really appeal to him. On the top floor in a more secluded, cut-off section, was the LGBT+ literature. He looked around cautiously, before sliding off to the small shelves.

“How many of these do you reckon are written by cis, straight writers?” Roman asked, having sneakily followed Logan here.

“Probably a disappointingly high proportion.” He replied, trying to hide his surprise. Strangely, he didn’t feel the same fear as he used to when he was on the verge of being outed; instead, he was calm, collected, and composed.

“Take this, for example,” Roman continued, grabbing a book seemingly at random that he must have recognised, “I’ve read this, and it isn’t even about being queer, it isn’t centred around queer character, it has one particularly flamboyant guy in it who is introduced halfway through and never mentioned again, not even confirmed as gay or _anything_. How is that ‘LGBT Literature’?”

“Do you read a lot of books like this, then?” Logan asked. Having spent the majority of the journey here having the other three get to know him, he presumed it was only fair to try to get to know the others in return. However, Roman suddenly turned red and folded one of his arms across his body while zipping and unzipping his jacket with the other.

“Well, yeah, so… But... Hey, what’s that book you’ve got?”

“It’s a history book about the Russian revolution from the non-fiction section downstairs. Look here, I also have one about human anatomy.”

“Logan, why do you always study?” Roman asked, taking Logan aback.

“I got a scholarship for a reason, I need to be the best in order to keep it.”

“But even so, you take more classes than you need to, all your time is spent working, you read up on things even unrelated to your studies. Why?”

“Well,” Logan explained, trying to supress his rising anxiety, “I find the world to be a very interesting place, and there is so much to learn about it. But, the world is also full of terrible people, so I have to work harder when I’m going to die earlier.”

“What? What makes you think you’ll die earlier?” Roman unfolded his arms and stopped zipping his jacket.

“The life expectancy of a gay person is, on average, twenty years less than that of a straight one.” Logan explained bluntly. He noticed Roman try to hide a smile, and his eyes widen.

“Oh, you’re gay, too?” He asked.

“Is that a problem – wait, ‘too’? There’s someone else?” Logan was confused; how had he managed to move into a household with three people he’d never met before with them all looking similar, one of them having the same glasses as him, one of them also being averse to touch, and one of them also being gay? Roman winked, and strutted away. He hated to assume, but it was obvious to him that Roman was the other gay.

After paying for his books, which totalled to over fifty dollars, he re-joined his new friends outside and tried desperately to fit all six in his backpack. With the assistance of Virgil, he managed, eventually, to zip it back up.

“Why do you have a cell biology book when you’re studying law and philosophy?” He had asked.

“Because cells are, objectively, amazing.”

“If you say so, Teach.” Virgil laughed. From behind, Logan could hear Patton whisper to Roman about Virgil stealing his ‘nickname thing’.

“Logan!” Patton called, jogging to catch up with him. He spun around on his heels but, with his backpack being unusually heavy and shifting his centre of gravity, had to reach out for Patton so as not to fall. He apologised, but Patton seemed totally unbothered, and proceeded to talk as normal.

“Heck, how do you walk so quickly?” Patton asked between sharp intakes of breath. Perhaps Logan was going a bit too quickly, if Patton was out of breath like this. He slowed down for him.

“I’m gay.” Logan replied. Of course: every gay walks quickly.

“Oh, really?” Patton grinned. “Me too!” He exclaimed with a grin.

“Oh, I thought Roman was the gay one.” Logan admitted, eliciting laughter from him and the other two, who had now also caught up to him.

“Well, aren’t you in for a treat?” Roman teased when he’d calmed down.

“What do you mean?” He asked, their behaviour growing to be more and more surreptitious.

“Logan, there isn’t a gay _one_. We’re all gay. All of us.” Virgil explained, making a concerted effort not to sound too patronising, and even more of an effort not to laugh – it didn’t help that Roman and Patton were laughing as much as they were.

Back home, Logan was relieved to be able to return to his room and not find the horrors of Deceit waiting for him – he’s kind, sometimes. He carefully and precisely placed his new books on his shelf (organised alphabetically by author’s last name, right to left, with hardbacks having a separate section from paperbacks) and wandered back downstairs to spend time with his new friends, who, seemingly, had accepted him as their own.

“Would anyone like a coffee?” He offered in the living room, where they all were sat in various positions: Virgil cross-legged on the floor; Roman draped dramatically over the whole couch; and Patton with his leg over the arm of his chair.

“Yes, please, if you’re making it!” They all replied simultaneously, their synchronicity making Logan crack a smile.

“How do you have it?” He asked, hoping that they all, like him, have it black so he didn’t actually have to put too much effort into it.

“Black, like my soul would be if I had one.” Virgil replied.

“Okay, Hot Topic. A splash of milk, please.” Roman said.

“Milk and sugar?” Request Patton. He made his way into the kitchen, and there was still no sign of Deceit (thankfully). He made them all, and called them to let them know that their coffees awaited. First Roman, then Virgil, then Patton. He supposed that Deceit had decided to take some time off for now, but he remained cautious, knowing that he could decide to appear at any moment, even if his appearance was nonsensical. They all thanked him and took their drinks back to the living room to continue watching television, and only then did Logan realise he had neglected to make his own.

Another few days passed, rather uneventfully. College had started up again, so Logan was attending his lectures and taking his online classes again, and he’d spend time between lectures in the library, when it was quiet, going over his notes before returning to the Home of the Noisy Ones. He’d started to like his housemates more and more, but the noise they managed to make was beyond annoying when he was trying to work. He’d also started to spend more time in the mock court rooms, role-playing with other students some court cases. Roman had managed to land a role in a play that was showing locally, where he was one of the main characters. Thus, he had also started spending more time out the house at rehearsals, working hard to try to perfect his character’s lines. Logan described him as ‘decisively assiduous’ when Virgil had mocked him for being able to spend hours reading his script but not being able to sit down to read literally anything else. Virgil had been promoted at the library he worked at, now having longer hours but also working a five-day week rather than just having Sundays off, and he seemed more content being able to work in the weekday when there were fewer people, less noise, and just less human interaction in general. As the school timetable had also just started, Patton had also returned to work as kindergarten teacher.

“I didn’t know you had a teacher’s certificate as well!” Logan had exclaimed when he’d discovered Patton’s job.

“I didn’t know you’re also fluent in Spanish, along with literally everything else you can do.” He’d replied.

“Wait, you can speak Spanish?” Interrupted Roman. It had definitely been a busy week.

Logan was in his room on a Friday afternoon when he heard his name from outside.

“Logan, open up.” Virgil’s voice said. When he opened the door, he found Virgil leaning on the doorframe.

“Hi, Virgil.”

“One of my friends is having a party tonight, want to come? It’s Remy, you know him, right?” He offered. Logan rattled his brain to think of an excuse, but none would come. He had to think quickly.

“Well…” He said, to give himself time. He tried hard to think about Deceit and call him forth, but for some reason, he did not come. He heard Virgil say something, but couldn’t tell what it was.

“Sure, I’ll go.” He said, when he could think of no reason to not go – other than that he didn’t want to, but it’s not as if he could just say that. “When do we leave? Are Roman and Patton coming, too?” He asked, hoping that if he at least feigned anticipation, it might drown out the dread.

“We’ll leave at nine, and yeah, they are, so don’t worry.” He replied. Logan thanked him and went to shut the door.

“Oh, and Logan?” Virgil called before he could shut it completely. He opened it again as an invitation to continue. “Don’t wear a tie. Someone will probably try to strangle you with it.” Although it was probably a joke, and as if he hadn’t already deeply regretted his acquiescence, Logan wanted nothing more than to just not have to go to that party. He didn’t technically have any work to do, so that wasn’t an excuse, but he probably could have tried to make something as a last resort. Too late now. He made a mental note to ask Remy when the party would end so he could know when to come home.

Ten minutes before nine, Virgil knocked on the door again. He heard whispering, but he promptly went to greet them anyway.

“Why are you wearing two ties?” Roman asked as Virgil and Patton stifled their laughter.

“Virgil said if I wore a tie, someone would strangle me with it, but I have a spare so that I can strangle them back if the opportunity arises.” He answered after a moment of consideration.

“I appreciate that you said ‘opportunity’ and not ‘need’.” Remarked Roman with a giggle.

“Well, it is a fair reason…” Patton said, blushing.

“Anyway, get a jacket, nerd. Let’s go.”

Despite Remy’s house being no more than a fifteen minute walk away, Roman demanded to drive them all ‘because it’s dark and cold, and I’m happy enough not to drink’.

“Logan, do you want the passenger seat?” He offered, causing a mass of protest from the other two.

“Why does he get it-”

“Because you two don’t actually mind sitting next to each other, and he barely knows us and I don’t think he’d be okay there, but you two will. Any more questions?” His tone was sassy, but Logan really appreciated the consideration, and was actually impressed that Roman could be so assertive. Patton opened his mouth to protest further, but Virgil nudged him, whispered in his ear, and he finally conceded. Virgil winked at Roman and, it was a bit too dark to be certain, but Logan thought he could see Roman blushing, but he was unsure what it meant. He took the passenger seat. Once they were all in, Roman waited for them all to get their seatbelts on before starting – such concern for safety was not something Logan was accustomed to – and as they all rode along the streets, Logan could feel a figurative weight being lifted from his shoulders. He looked in the rear-view mirrors, still searching for Deceit whenever he could in horrid anticipation, but he still was not there. Instead, he saw Patton, who flashed a grin at him, and Logan couldn’t help but smile back. He’d almost forgotten what it meant to be at peace. Despite the car journey not taking more than five minutes, Roman turned on the radio for some music, and the sound of acoustic guitar and deep, husky voices fluttered through the air. Logan asked to have his window down and, upon receiving permission, breathed in fresh, cold air, and felt the wind rush through his hair. He didn’t really care that he was getting a bit colder (though he did note to close it soon so that his new friends didn’t feel too cold), but his lack of care wasn’t his usual apathy, but more as if he just didn’t mind. Roman stopped just as Logan was pulling the window back up, and they all leapt out the car excitedly. When Logan got out, he heard the door slam and instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch, remembered what he was doing and froze. He was cold, not just because of the wind, but his blood seemed to spread cold around him, and he struggled to breathe. He stayed, paralysed in fear, for a few moments. He heard voices, but couldn’t tell what they were saying. They grew louder.

“Logan! Where did you go?” Patton asked, poking him in the shoulder to bring him back, mimicking Roman’s words from earlier in the week. Fortunately, Logan was now used to this question, and had a multitude of stock answers in place.

“Oh, sorry about that, I was just in my own world.” He laughed, after remembering the positive reaction that response received last time. Virgil and Roman had now stopped and cast concerned glances at him.

“You seem to zone out a lot, are you feeling okay?”

“No.” He answered quickly, before he could even think about it. From the depths of his mind, he was able to quickly pull out an extra fragment to rise less concern. “I don’t feel anything, except that it’s a bit cold here. May we go inside now, please?” He didn’t mean to seem like he was begging, but he knew that that was exactly how he sounded. If it meant he could go inside and be around so many people that he could disappear among them, and if it meant that his friends’ suspicions would seem unwarranted, then he was satisfied. As if instructed rather than begged, the three turned and went inside. Putting on a façade of sophistication, Logan buried the calamity erupting in his mind and swiftly followed suit. Even though he was no more than five seconds behind them, when he’d closed the door behind himself, he had completely lost sight of them; the room was filled with people who all seemed to be taking up as much room as they could, and he recognised none of them. Loud music boomed and shattered his thoughts into pieces. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t see his friends, he couldn’t breathe normally anymore.

_Deceit?_ He called in his mind, trying not to cry with the overwhelming sense of impending doom.

“Logan, sweetie, what are you doing here?” Deceit yelled. He existed solely in Logan’s mind, but he still could barely be heard over the music.

_I made some friends, Deceit! I told you I would! You didn’t believe me, but look at me now, I’m at a party and I have friends!_

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

_I’m here, and I’m making friends!_

“Oh, you are? Go talk to someone new, then. Make some more friends, if that’s the case.” And he disappeared. In spite of his previous anxieties, Logan now had the confidence of a king flowing through him – and he hadn’t even had a drink yet. He approached the nearest person to him that, by Logan’s judgement, seemed willing to talk, and tried to act as normally as he could.

“Hi!” He exclaimed, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, playing a myriad of unrecognised songs. The person turned to face him, and smiled.

“Oh, hello! Logan, right?” They said. He nodded and grinned. “Yeah, you’re the nerd in my law class who always corrects the dude, yeah, I know you! Megan.” She reached out to shake his hand, a gesture that pleased Logan immensely; not a lot of contact, but a respectful gesture nonetheless. He opened his mouth to speak, but Megan seemed to bloom gregariousness.

“You don’t seem like the type to come to parties, what brings you here?”

“My friends, they offered to bring me here so I said that I would. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah, I guess. Lucky you, though, I didn’t bring any _real_ friends with me so I’m just bopping here by myself now. Here,” she reached out over some kind of counter and conjured a red plastic cup, “have a drink, you look like you need it.” He thanked her, and took a sip. It didn’t taste like beer.

“What is this?” He asked, suspicious. He wouldn’t expect someone like Megan to try to hurt him, but it tasted nothing like anything he’d ever had before.

“Oh, you’re too sweet!” She exclaimed, bursting with laughter, “It’s pink gin, so be careful with how much you have.”

“I shall!” He exclaimed, making her laugh even more. He couldn’t see what was so funny, but he was happy to be making another friend. He took another sip and observed that she was wearing almost solely red. Whether this was an intentional, purposeful choice on her part, or mere coincidence, he could not tell. He took another sip.

“You’re so cute, I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to you before!” She yelled as the music switched to a song significantly louder than the last.

“I’ve never really been the talkative type, so it’s not your fault at all!” He replied. Then, a man walked between him and Megan, somehow even shorter than Logan, and said something to her that he couldn’t hear. Just as he was about to seek out another friend, he turned to him with a face of stone, and said:

“Who the hell do you think you are?” He stumbled around where he stood, and it became clear that he was drunk.

“I’m Logan, and I’m in the same law class as your friend, Megan. And you are?”

“You should know me by now, pretty boy – wait, law? Are you that loser who always sits in those court rooms they have?” He shouted, making a wide stance as if he was trying to be threatening, but Logan found it hard to be intimidated by someone two inches shorter than him and someone who could get drunk less than an hour into a party, and someone who used ‘pretty’ as an insult.

“Oh, you think I’m pretty? How sweet.” He taunted, shocking himself; he didn’t think of saying that, it just came out. Had the drink already started to affect him?

“Cut out that gay stuff dude, that’s nasty!” He screamed, making Megan intervene angrily.

“Chill out John, you’re the one who called him pretty.” She argued. She looked at Logan and silently gestured for him to leave. He looked around the room, looking either for one of his house-friends, or for a potential new friend.

Logan wandered to the kitchen and somehow entered the Room of the Jocks, and was surprised not to have found Roman amongst them. When he walked in, they all turned and, upon seeing him, proceeded to cheer obnoxiously. Then, the chanting ensued:

“We got a nerd! We got a nerd!” They all shouted, all slapping him on the shoulder encouragingly. He was revelling too happily with all this positive attention to even feel the usual disgust he got with being touched. He tried to tell them his name (as much as he appreciated ‘nerd’, there could be no harm in them knowing appropriate methods of addressing him) but, even though the kitchen walls seemed to shield the music, their cheers and chants were too loud for him to be heard. Instead, he just laughed along with them.

“Hey, nerd, want a drink?” One offered, passing him a beer bottle from the fridge. He accepted thoughtlessly.

“Down it all in one!” Another demanded, eliciting even louder cheers from the crowd.

“Excuse me?”

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” They shouted in unison.

“I’ll do it if the rest of you do.” He declared with a smirk. They all cheered again, and, after a minute or two of getting all the beer bottles (they needed seven more in total) and opening them all, they all proceeded to gulp their beer all in one. Some were going at a quicker pace than others, but, among everything else he knew he was, Logan was also determined; he was the first to finish. He slammed the empty bottle on the table and went to get another. In the time it took him to open his second bottle, more of the jocks had finished and stared at him in shock. Nonchalantly, Logan opened the second bottle and started drinking at a rapid, albeit slower, pace. By this time, the last of them had now finished but, rather than slamming their bottles with pride and energy, gently placed them down so as not to make a sound.

“Are you all okay?” He asked as the silence lingered uncomfortably. He took another few sips, now halfway through this beer.

“Yo, finish that one and we’ll go for round two!” One of the bigger ones exclaimed. Even though half of them seemed on the verge of throwing up, the energy put into the cheers from the remaining half was so much that it didn’t seem to matter. While Logan finished off his bottle, the round-two advocate started distributing bottles to anyone who’d take them, laughing and speaking in such a way that his words seemed to melt into one, and his sentences an amalgamation. As soon as he’d finished, Logan moved straight into his third, racing to empty the bottle before the remaining four. When he actually tried, he found he could empty a bottle in about five seconds. Again, he was the first to slam the bottle down. The jocks took a few more seconds, before they all completed theirs at the same time. Logan started to feel queasy, and the jocks looked green. But, what they now lacked in composure they ferociously made up for in exclamations of enthusiasm and celebration for Logan.

“You’re awesome!” One shouted from among the crowd.

“You don’t look like someone who’s even tasted beer before, that’s amazing!” Another remarked.

“Hey, I think there’s some vodka in the dining area somewhere – do you have vodka?” Another asked, prodding Logan on the shoulder.

“I’ve had it once or twice, yes.” He replied, wobbling on his feet.

“Ay, let’s go lads!”

The group of jocks cut through the crowd of people like Moses parting the red sea, with Logan being dragged in the middle as his new-found bodyguards protected him from everyone else and lead him towards the dining table on which a plethora of spirits had been displayed. One of them threw a red cup at him, and Logan caught it with his left hand which made his crowd of fans shout words of support and amazement.

“Pour yourself however much you want and then I’ll have the same amount, then we’ll dilute, then race, yeah?” The biggest one suggested. Logan nodded, his vision slightly blurry if his head moved too quickly, but, otherwise, he was perfectly fine, and knew how to handle himself in the case of a hangover the next morning.

“Woah, dude, is that how much you always have?” He exclaimed in shock upon observing that Logan had filled up half the cup and yet showed no signs of stopping.

“Logan! That’s like the ‘two shots of vodka’ vine, there’s barely enough room to dilute it now!” Another shouted. At this point, a crowd had gathered to watch Logan drink-battle one of the most popular men in college. He found it strange, thinking about it, that he was one of the youngest there, but everyone treated him like a real, normal, man – which made sense; he was in his early twenties, and the rest weren’t actually that much older, but the validation of finally being treated like an adult had suddenly hit him, and he smiled so genuinely, it hurt.

“Who said I’m diluting?” He teased, enjoying how every little thing he did sent everyone roaring. Why had he been dreading this party so much beforehand? Considering his adamant attitude to not feel anything, he found he was almost enjoying himself.

“No way!” His competitor cried, seizing his cup and filling the other half of it with some coke before doing the same thing with his own, “I’m not having that, no way! You trying to kill us, dude?” He laughed heartily, giving Logan back his cup and holding his own to his lips, ready.

“GO!” Announced someone from the crowd. They drank, but Logan gulped his entire cup in less than three seconds. Instantly, the back of his throat burned and he felt more than queasy; he felt downright nauseated. He stumbled backwards but was caught by a stranger from the crowd. He didn’t get to see their face; he was, instead, distracted by his competitor gagging and choking. Suddenly, he raced off, presumably towards the bathroom, and was followed by two of his friends.

“I’m sorry!” He called after them. Everyone laughed. He started to get this familiar and unwelcome feeling again: the sense of impending doom.

“Someone get him some water!” He heard a familiar voice called – a voice not too dissimilar to his own, but he couldn’t see Deceit anywhere. Instead, he saw the familiar figure of Roman strutting through the dense crowd of onlookers with a glass in his hand – finally, a glass! Not a plastic cup. He handed it to Logan, who drank it desperately, and quicker even than the alcohol. The rest of the room seemed to melt away, and all Logan could see was Roman.

“Do you need some more?” He asked, shifting between being in and out of focus. It was as if Logan’s glasses were malfunctioning.

“Yes please.” He replied. It seemed like only a second had passed before Roman had another glass of water at hand, giving it to Logan (to his ignorance, Roman had actually gathered a small chain of people to carry water glasses to him for an endless supply. However, Virgil and Patton were still nowhere to be found). He drank it, slower, this time, and he felt the nausea subside. He had two more glasses before Roman spoke again.

“No more, now, okay?”

“Okay.” Logan conceded.

“Was it you making them all cheer in the kitchen?” Roman asked, trying not to let his concern show.

“Yeah, it was fun.”

“What did you do?”

“I walked in and they all cheered and called me a nerd then they challenged me to down a bottle of beer all in one and I said I’d do it if the rest of them did it so we did and I did it and then someone asked for a round two while I was having another so we did it again and I finished first both times. Megan also gave me a cup of pink gin before that happened, so three bottles, a cup of the pink one, and so much vodka. So much.” He explained, noticing how pretty Roman looked in the dark lighting.

“Okay, Logan. Do you feel okay?”

“A bit tipsy, but better after the water. Do we have eggs?” He asked.

“What?” Roman didn’t quite hear the last bit, the music started to get a bit louder as he’d said it.

“Eggs!” Logan exclaimed.

“You want eggs?”

“No, do we have eggs? At home, I mean?”

“No, I don’t think so, why? Actually, no, tell me on the way home when I’ll be able to hear you! Do you think you’ll be okay on your own for a bit longer?” Roman was now shouting at the top of his voice to be heard over the music, but Logan didn’t seem to be paying him any attention; his eyes were unfocused and not blinking.

“Yeah, I’m making loads of friends so I’ll be fine!” He exclaimed, smiling. Roman smiled back at him, his eyes sparkling, before he left him alone again. The room suddenly came back together again, the music became overwhelming and the space became compact and the air warm and the people all very close.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he found his way instinctually in the kitchen again, but now the Room of the Jocks had downgraded into the Room of Threats; Logan hadn’t ever considered the jocks to be his friends, but they greeted him positively and made him feel – _think_ – he was having a good time. Now, the happily tipsy men had been replaced by angry, violent-looking people. Before he could back away unnoticed, one of them grabbed him by his ties and pinned him up against the wall. Yet, he remained calm and strangely not at all panicked.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She spat.

“Then, please, speak to me civilly rather than spitting on me.” He retorted. She raised a fist to punch him, so he quickly reached for his glasses and held them so they didn’t get broken. She didn’t hit him, but he grasped his glasses desperately in expectation. He saw another figure approach and whisper in his ear in a deep voice.

“We know what you are.” It hissed.

“Better than you?” Suggested Logan. He heard a gasp from someone, and he gripped his glasses even tighter upon seeing a fist raised in the air and pelleting towards him. Pain rushed through him as the fist collided with his jaw. Then again, around his eye. He cried out in agony, grabbing only the attention of those in the room, with the music outside the kitchen being too loud for anyone to hear and help. Someone else grabbed the arm which was holding his glasses, which he managed to hook around a belt loop so he wouldn’t lose them, and he was suddenly being pinned against the wall by three people, and at least two others hitting him repeatedly, fists and boots bludgeoning against him. He was gasping for breath, and trying to stay awake, and listened for signs of anyone that could help him nearby, but all he heard was a cacophony of slurs being thrown at him, which were somehow just as painful as the beatings. He looked up and tried to make sense of the features of at least some of his attackers. Even through the blurs of being mildly intoxicated and without glasses, he could tell that they all had one common feature: a scar on their faces, making their features twist into unsightly serpentine grimaces.

_“You deserve this!_ ” He heard, but whether it was in his head or real, he couldn’t know. He had to fight simply to stay awake.

The clock hung up on the kitchen wall indicated that less than five minutes had passed between the first punch and the last, but it felt like hours for Logan. The punches, kicks, and shouts of slurs had left him keeled on the floor when they had finally left, having grown bored of inflicting pain onto such innocence. He was quivering in pain and fear, blood flowing from his mouth and oozing from his skin. He could feel bruises forming, too. Not wanting to cause concern for anyone who may walk in, he pulled himself up, gazed at his reflection in the microwave (tried not to be startled by his horrifying appearance), and splashed his face with cold water.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Roman was eyeing up his reflection in the mirror; his hair had been blown into a mess from when Logan had the car window open and the heat of Remy’s house made it stick out at unusual, obscure angles.

“You’re far too concerned with your appearance, Prince.” Virgil laughed from the bathtub, “I really don’t think anyone notices that a few of your hairs aren’t perfectly in order.”

“I think Virgil’s right,” Patton said quietly, sat on the windowsill for cool air, “it’s not as if people are astute enough to observe the parts of yourself on which you fixate.”

“You’re both so much nicer when you’re drunk.” Sighed Roman. After searching the house when he’d left Logan downstairs, he finally found his two friends in the bathroom. They were not, by any means, wasted or in danger of being overly-intoxicated, but they were giggly. Roman, abiding his words when he swore to drive, hadn’t had a single drink, and the party had done well in reminding him how boring it is to watch a bunch of drunk people be drunk while still being sober.

“It makes me wonder what you hide when you’re sober.” He said with a sigh.

“Have you seen Logan in a while?” Patton asked.

“Yeah, just before I ran into you guys.” He replied. Virgil cast them a thoughtful look before offering any input.

“What do you guys make of him?” He asked, making Roman blush and become flustered almost instantly.

“He’s weird,” Patton replied within moments, “but I like him. He’s really smart and he just seems a bit shy, rather than anything bad.”

“You just like him because you have the same glasses!” Virgil remarked, sending himself and Patton into pits of laughter. Roman grew frustrated, but not with Virgil or Patton, more with himself.

“Not true!” Patton protested, “I like him because he’s awkward and he always seems to be searching in his soul for the best thing to say before he says it, and I like how he adjusts his glasses when he’s nervous…”

“See, I said it was the glasses!” Virgil laughed again. “Hey, Prince, you’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

“Hey, Virgil look! He’s gone bright red!” Patton yelled excitedly.

“I have not!” Protested Roman, all to no avail; it wasn’t just the alcohol that saw him blushing, he could see it himself in the mirror, and feel it, too.

“Answer me, then.” Virgil demanded, his voice trying too hard to be assertive behind a happy and juvenile smile.

“Well, I’m thinking about Logan, of course. He _is_ weird: don’t you guys think it’s a bit suspicious that he sometimes just loses himself completely? Like, there’s zoning out, but then there’s that thing that he does. He also acts like he’s completely emotionless, but you should have seen him in that book store the other day, he seemed thrilled when I found him. And in the car on the way here, he seemed peaceful and almost happy when I let him have the window down.” Roman explained, trying not to stutter as he grew more and more flustered.

“Just say you’re hopelessly in love and move on.” Interjected Virgil, now with his arms crossed.

“Virgil, don’t lie!” Patton cried, before a cheeky smile spread across his face. “There’s still hope for him!” He concluded. The two drunks laughed together, and even Roman cracked a bit of a smile. There was no point in denying it; he’d accidentally made it so clear to everyone except Logan himself, that denial at this point would be futile. Suddenly, a silence echoed through the bathroom. It went unnoticed even by Roman at first, but Virgil and Patton soon picked up on the sound (or lack thereof) emitting from downstairs. Assuming the worst, Roman clicked his fingers to make the other two come with him and he flew down the stairs as fast as he could to see what was happening. The scene that greeted his eyes made him feel like he’d been stabbed in the heart: sweet Logan, crying and rocking on the floor with dried blood encrusted on his face and bruises growing with each passing second. Patton, upon catching up with him, could almost feel his heart stop. When Virgil at last joined them, he was on the verge of collapse. Rocking back and forth clutching his glasses, Logan seemed completely unaware of his surroundings.

_It’s okay,_ he told himself, _keep it together… You can do this_. He hadn’t even realised that the music had stopped until he heard a whisper of his name. He looked up, and saw his friends standing there, towering over him, with Roman in front. Like a rocket, he leapt up from his feet and jumped towards them, taking Roman into an embrace. He pressed his head into his chest to hear his heartbeat, desperate for a steady rhythm to keep him calm (this was helped by the fact that Roman was wearing heels in his shoes to be even taller). After a moment of silence, the jocks that had been drinking with him cheered again, triggering a round of applause from everyone else. He noticed Remy slide over to whisper to Roman, and remembered that he had wanted to speak to him, but now didn’t quite seem like the best time. Instead, he listened to Roman’s heart and found solace in its soft, gentle beat.

“I’m taking you home, okay?” Roman whispered, as the crowd disbanded.

“That’s okay, but please don’t leave me alone.” Logan begged. Logan couldn’t hear it, but hearing him say that broke Roman’s heart.

“Can you walk?” He asked.

“Everything hurts.” Logan cried. Before he could even protest or squirm away, Roman scooped him up and carried him outside, holding him close enough for his head to rest on his shoulder.

“What the heck happened to him?” Patton whispered to Virgil, careful to make sure neither Roman nor Logan could hear.

“I don’t want to presume the worst, but I’m going to say something homophobic.” He replied, confirming Patton’s suspicions. He gulped so as not to cry.

As they approached the car, Logan saw a figure – more like a silhouette – sat in the passenger seat. At first, he thought it was a shadow of either himself or his friends, but he would always notice that glint in his eye, that scar on his face, and that smug, belittling aura he carried with him. As if being beaten within an inch of his life wasn’t enough, Deceit couldn’t help but join the party (both figuratively and literally). He smiled, his scar distorting the best and the worst of his features to form a hideous, twisted snake.

“I can’t get in the car.” Logan declared.

“It’s okay,” Roman tried to soothe him, “it’s just us. Nobody will hurt you.” But Logan was adamant.

“No, please, you don’t understand, there’s someone there and I can’t be there with him!”

“Please, look, there’s nobody else there. You’re okay. Look now, Patton and Virgil _are going to_ _get in_ , see?” He explained, emphasis on his instructions. His other two friends obeyed, taking the same seats they had on the journey to the party, and looked back to him hopefully.

“You can’t see him, he isn’t real, but he will hurt me! Please, I implore you, don’t make me get in with him! I’ll walk back, if I have to!”

“We both know that isn’t true, Logan. We both know I can’t hurt you.” Deceit snarled. Logan couldn’t breathe, it was as if someone had seized his neck and was strangling him.

“No, you’re lying! That’s what you do! You’re hurting me!” Logan tried to scream, but his thorax was tightening up, and so his pleas came out as child-like rasps. He couldn’t feel it, but he was crying again; tears cascading endlessly from his eyes and dampening Roman’s jacket.

“Logan, do you want me to put you down?” Roman asked. He sounded frustrated (Logan hadn’t heard him the first two times he’d asked), but the thought of being dropped terrified him. He was twitching, shaking, and gasping for breath. He wasn’t even speaking anymore – he couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t control himself from quivering, and he could _not_ get in the car with Deceit. Patton looked on in horror, helpless and scared but keeping his mouth shut so as not to diverge from the more important matter at hand: Logan in the midst of a panic attack. Virgil leapt from his seat and tried to speak to Logan, but he had become unresponsive, back in his own, frightening world.

“He can’t hear me. Roman, listen to me: he’s close enough to you to follow your breathing pattern, so breathe in for four seconds… Good, now hold it for seven. _Yes_ , seven… Great, now breathe out for eight seconds. Continue like that, he’ll probably breathe with you enough to calm down.” He demanded, heeding his own advice, subtly enough to go unnoticed but well enough to work on himself.

“And don’t make him get in that car. He’ll fall asleep soon – probably in a few minutes – and then we can go.” He added, with a hiss that said ‘and I don’t care how cold you feel’.

It took a few minutes, as Virgil had predicted, but he did fall asleep. He was stiff and had turned almost completely white except for the parts of him that still had blood, and the bruises.

“Patton, you can drive, right?” Roman asked, unwilling to let Logan go.

“I’m drunk, Roman!” He protested in reply. Virgil sat back in the car quietly as Roman was still stood on the spot.

“Damn. Okay, don’t worry. Can one of you take the passenger seat so Logan can be in the back? He’s less likely to fall, that way.” He suggested. Patton took the front seat, as they decided it was best for Virgil to be in the back with Logan in case he woke up in another wave of anxiety; he just seemed to know how to deal with it best, even in his drunken, compromised, state. Roman started the engine and raced back home as soon as he heard the click of everyone’s seatbelts. He opened the window for some fresh air, but the radio remained silent.

“Roman?” Virgil piped up from the back.

“Yes, Virgil?”

“What happened, do you think?” He asked.

“I really don’t know, I’m sorry. He was fine before I came up to see you guys, he’d just been drinking with some of the popular guys and they seemed quite happy with him, so I left him there. He also said that someone – I can’t remember their name – had given him some pink gin. He said they were racing to see who could drink the fastest, and I actually saw him have a vodka and coke in like two gulps. I got him some water and – wait!” He slammed the breaks, throwing all of them forward. Virgil reflexively reach out to stop Logan falling.

“Roman!” Patton scolded, “You’re lucky there’s nobody behind us, otherwise-”

“Patton, you know this area well, where’s the nearest supermarket? Interrupted Roman, who was now scouring his pockets for his wallet.

“Down this street, take a left, and there’s a local grocery store. What do you need?” He replied, forgetting almost instantly the disaster that could have been.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be too long.” He replied, not having heard the actual question, but instead ‘how long will you be?’ He accelerated at an even faster speed than before, but nobody dared complain; Roman had a look about him that screamed ‘I’m doing this and you can’t stop me’.

He followed Patton’s instructions, and, sure enough, he stumbled upon a small grocers. He checked on Virgil and Logan, the latter still being asleep and calm, the former looking to be on his way to sleep.

“Virgil, please stay awake. Nothing should happen while I’m gone, I’ll be as quick as I can, but please stay calm.”

“Okay, _dad_.” Teased Virgil as Roman opened the door to leave. He slammed the door shut and sprinted towards the door, praying that he wasn’t too late.

“Oh,” the owner sighed when they saw him, “I thought I was going to be able to close a half hour early.”

“I’m really sorry to be so late, I won’t be long.” He explained apologetically. Never having visited here before, Roman scuttled through every aisle before finally finding them: eggs. He’d remembered that Logan wanted some eggs, for a reason unbeknown to anyone but himself, and his body flooded with relief upon seeing them.

“Here, sorry about keeping you later than you’d like.” Roman said, handing them the eggs. Before they could even tell him the price, he gave them a ten dollar bill, telling them to keep the change, and walked away without taking a receipt, jogging to get back to his friends.

“Wow, Mister Jog, you really were quick.” Remarked Virgil when he’d gotten back in the car.

“Creative nickname there.” He replied, having quickly grown impatient and wanting to just get back home to put Logan to bed.

_It was dark, but not pitch black. He could see shapes, but not figure. There was noise, but no real sound. He was cold, but the air was so warm, so he breathed rapidly in order to inhale its heat. He felt some kind of inertia, as if he was being dragged but something in him resisted it. He’d never felt this before, but it was a sensation that bothered him much less than the slowly-growing evanescence in front of him. He couldn’t distinguish its colour, except it was somewhere between orange, green, and brown. It looked like smoke, but glittery and it emitted a whistling screech. He watched as it started to separate, each colour forming its own segment, and each segment forming more and more intricate shapes, with each colour becoming more and more its own, but nevertheless still indistinguishable from anything Logan knew. Oh, he’s Logan! He’d remembered who he was, but the relief of his self-acknowledgement was short-lived and quickly replaced by the terror of a gigantic snake forming in front of his eyes, the size of a dragon, with a slit in one eye and a scar on one side of his face, starting at the corner of his mouth and spreading all the way down its long, scaly body. Although he tried to stay as still as possible, he was twitching and gasping for breath. The snake eyed at him, plastered a sickening smile as his scales twisting into skin, and he looked up to the sky before making the sound of inhale, before consuming Logan in flames._

Logan woke up, instantly snapping his eyes open and shooting up, scrambling all over and grasping the bedsheets for some kind of feeling of familiarity. Looking around, he recognised that he wasn’t in his bedroom, but on the floor of the living room with a plethora of blankets and pillows thrown on the floor. He calmed down only once he saw his friends asleep among the bedding: Patton lying on his stomach with his arms tucked in at his chest; Virgil on his back clutching a pillow at his abdomen; and Roman curled up into a ball with his arms folded neatly in the crevice between his legs and body. He sat, cross-legged, and went through the sequence of events that had occurred: he befriended Megan, who gave him some pink gin (he remembered this part clearly), he then went into the kitchen and raced to drink some beer with some jocks – whether he’d drank only two or up to ten, he couldn’t remember, he only knew that he’d out-drank them all – and he then ended up outside the kitchen. What had happened outside the kitchen? He looked around at his friends, something deep in his mind was fixated on Roman, but he had no idea why. Was it that he slept in a position that suggested vulnerability and insecurity? Was it that his face looked softer than usual now that he wasn’t trying to manipulate it however he wanted? Or was it just that, after everything that had happened, Logan had wanted nobody else but him? He tried to remember what happened outside the kitchen, closing his eyes and trying to hear the music again… It was the water. Not only the water, but the fact that Roman had seen Logan the way he was and immediately called for water to help him feel better, that he cared enough and payed enough attention. He had some water, and then he went back into the kitchen. He remembered the following events, but didn’t want to dwell on them for any more time than necessary. He remembered listening to Roman’s heartbeat, and being scooped up and being brought back home. Nothing else. He startled as Roman squirmed, unfolding himself from his ball.

“Roman?” He whispered, loud enough for him to hear, but quiet so as not to wake up Virgil and Patton. Roman sat up and looked at Logan, and appreciated how he was tired, but awake, and not in a panic, and not painted in blood (thanks to Patton’s idea the night prior to clean him up and put his glasses somewhere safe). He had a black eye and he looked pale, but it certainly wasn’t as bad as he thought he’d be.

“Hey, Logan.” He whispered in return, smiling.

“Roman, what happened to me last night?” He asked, hoping to remember some detail about the time after leaving Remy’s house. “Where did I go?”

“You went into your own little world.” Roman replied, fatigued. They paused.

“I think I like this one better.” Said Logan after some thought.

“Oh? Why?”

“Because I have my friends here. I never had friends before, it’s nice to have you all now.” Roman’s heart melted and shattered and was healed at Logan’s words, all at the same time. It made sense to him, at least.

“I’ll always be your friend.” He replied. Logan’s face softened, but he seemed nervous.

“I don’t want you to be my friend.” He said. Quickly, before Roman could get too upset, he tried to finish. “You’re too cute. I really… Would you… Sorry, please? You know what I want to say.” Logan stuttered, embarrassed at his carelessness when he was usually so careful with his words, so flustered that he couldn’t even say the words, no matter how much he wanted them to be heard.

“I do. And I’m glad you asked, because now _I_ don’t have to.” Roman smiled. Logan had grown bright red. They shuffled closer to each other, making sure to avoid awakening Patton or Virgil.

“Thank you,” Logan said with his head resting on Roman’s shoulder and their hands grasping each other, “for bringing me back from where I was. I do like this world.”


End file.
